


The happy angel and other stories...

by AgusHeredia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Happy Angel, Happy Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, One Shot, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), References to Jane Austen, References to Oscar Wilde, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28256529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgusHeredia/pseuds/AgusHeredia
Summary: (Aziraphale loves Oscar Wilde books, but it may take a little demonic intervention to speak to him. Also, Crowley is bored, and loves to tease his angel...)“Well, I see that you two have lots to talk about,” He mocked, “so I’ll be taking my leave.”“What? No! Crowley!"The serpent was gone before he could say anything else, gracefully slithering through the crowd and hiding behind the masses.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	The happy angel and other stories...

**Author's Note:**

> The Happy Angel and other stories…
> 
> Original idea: Beana (shitomens on twt)
> 
> By: Agus Heredia
> 
> Translation by: Anonymityisbest

**London - Early 1894**

He was on his third glass and still didn’t feel dizzy enough. It would take extraordinary amounts of alcohol to not die of boredom. This party was worse than what he had imagined. Much worse.

_“Please come with me...I accompanied you to that dreadful play!”_

That was how Aziraphale had cajoled him a few days ago, with his big puppy dog eyes and that pout of his. So beautiful, so adorable.

He just couldn’t have told him no. He never could. And really, it didn’t see a problem with it in the beginning. The angel and him at a party, with music, wine, some dancing… it couldn’t be that bad.

But now, of course, he was regretting it. This wasn’t a party. It was a place for depressed progressives who thought themselves better than others for being able to jot down their thoughts with fancy words; full of their ‘deep pain’ and ink-stained fingers.

It was a writers’ reunion. That’s how bad it was.

“Oh, heavens! Look!” The principality exclaimed, very excited.

He made his way to a table lined with food and started to fill his hands with small tarts filled with red fruits, cream, and chocolate.

Food was his second greatest love.

The first was books.

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” the redhead murmured. 

Aziraphale turned to look at him, a bit of cream filling sticking to the corner of his lips. The demon was about to wipe it away, but he was able to stop himself. It would be too easy to fall into temptation.

“Are you not having fun, my dear?”

“Of course not!” He complained, serving himself another glass of wine. “I think they’re pathetic.”

“They’re exceptional!”

“They’re petulant,” He corrected. “They talk about themselves as if nothing else existed. Besides, there’s no woman authors here.”

“You know that’s a bit complicated…” Started the blond, trying to come up with an excuse. “It’s difficult for a woman to be published.”

“It’s difficult because _they_ _want it_ to be that way.” He spat out. “If Jane were here this useless bunch wouldn’t have a chance. They couldn’t hold a candle to her.”

The angel frowned, a little upset, but also a little ashamed. He knew she had been good friends with the demon, and that her death had hurt him. He had fallen asleep for some time after finding out. Aziraphale had only found him a mere twenty years ago, and when he gave his condolences Crowley answered with a subtle nod.

He wasn’t very good at showing his emotions, but he didn’t need to be.

The angel knew.

They even visited her tomb sometimes.

“I’m sorry to have brought you here. I didn’t mean for you to have a bad time…”

“‘S alright, angel” he answered, not giving the matter much importance. “Hey, isn’t that the poet you like?”

Aziraphale turned to where the serpent was pointing, his eyes going wide. His cheeks turned a bright red, like two small apples, and forgot all about the shame that had run through him seconds ago.

He watched, completely stunned, as just a few meters away from him Oscar Wild poured himself wine as he animatedly talked with other men.

“Oh my Lord!” He whispered. “It’s him!”

He was suddenly aware that he couldn’t breathe, which would have been a problem if his corporation had needed to do so.

“You should talk to him.”

“What?”

“Go talk to him.”

The angel turned back to Crowley and looked at him as if he didn’t know who he was.

“What?!” He repeated nervously. “No!”

“Please, angel!” The serpent exclaimed, clearly having fun. “I’m sure you have lots to talk about!” He turned and pointed to the author in question.

“Hey! You!” Crowley said, trying to remember his name with no success. “Wylbur!”

Aziraphale was petrified behind him, actually thinking about a quick miracle to disappear. But it was too late. With his red hair and loud voice the demon had called the attention of almost everyone in the room.

“My friend here,” he said, motioning towards the blond, “He’s a big fan!”

“Crowley, please” Aziraphale begged, “stop!”

“He has some sort of sanctuary in his library! All your books right beside each other. And a photograph of yours!”

Oscar came closer to the two of them, a smile upon his lips and a glass of wine in his hand. He was wearing a beige suit that went well with his shoulder length hair. The angel looked at him with his mouth open for a moment before he remembered that was a rude thing to do.

Never had a human left him speechless, but right in front of him was the man that had written some of the best phrases that he had ever read. Written the books that had reached his heart. He needed a moment to take it all in.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

“H-Hello.” The blond stuttered.

The redhead smiled mischievously and finished his glass of wine. He couldn't remember the last time he saw Aziraphale so nervous. His cheeks with a red tint to them, his eyes bright and his hands tight and wringing around a handkerchief that he’d had for hundreds of years.

He would give anything to see that expression on his face every day for the rest of his life. It was times like these where he loved being a demon.

“Well, I see that you two have lots to talk about,” He mocked, “so I’ll be taking my leave.”

“What? No! Crowley!”

The serpent was gone before he could say anything else, gracefully slithering through the crowd and hiding behind the masses.

“A friend?”

“Him? Oh, no, no, nothing like that. More like… he’s my…” The angel sighed, not being able to find the right words. “It’s complicated.”

“Don’t worry. I completely understand.” He gave a shy smile, “Everyone here is in a similar situation.”

Aziraphale nodded, not quite understanding what the writer was referring to.

“I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m sure you have many people to talk to.”

“No, not really. I came here to meet with someone. I’m not much for parties or reunions…”

“Oh,” The angel smiled. “Are you here to meet a friend?”

Oscar let out a soft laugh, bringing his glass to his lips and draining it. The blond man next to him was nothing like the type to come to gatherings for gentlemen like this. He was clearly one of them, that much was obvious, but not one to just spend a night. He looked like one who was waiting for a long and calm life with their lover in a house near the beach. He even reminded Oscar of himself when he was younger, with fear, but also with hopes of changing the world.

And yet here they were, using a euphemism to describe a simple relationship.

So he looked him in the eye, gave a sad smile, nodded, and relaxed.

“It’s complicated.” He responded.

And it was.

Crowley was watching them from afar and confirmed that everything had gone perfectly. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but after a few awkward minutes he had seen how the angel laughed sincerely. Not the way he smiled towards his customers, or how he pretended in front of his superiors. He was really laughing, like when they were together in his library. When they were in the park, talking about anything at all, and he managed to make him laugh with a silly comment. He loved when Aziraphale gifted him with a few hours to go out to eat and they ended with the night sky above them, walking beneath the stars.

And as much as he loved it, it made him equally miserable. Because he knew that all of that would end at any moment and he would have to return home, alone, once again to his boring life of temptations and dirty work. While the angel stayed under the orders of his superiors, who didn’t really care about him.

Immortality was hard when you couldn’t do what you wanted, and Crowley knew, but that was also why he felt comfortable among the men surrounding him. In that gentlemen’s club where he didn’t have to pretend because they also knew. They all knew how hard it was to pretend. How unbearable it was to hide their feelings. To bury them.

How hard it was to love someone and not be able to say it due to fear of someone else’s punishment.

But from one moment to the next the tranquillity disappears, because in his mind that couldn’t last for too long - it never did. He couldn’t have hope. He wasn’t human, he was a demon, and the punishment waiting for him if he was discovered was worse than anything the humans could come up with. He was putting himself in danger, but most importantly, he was putting the only being worth anything in danger. He couldn’t do it. He shouldn’t be there.

That faraway safe place didn’t exist for traitors like him. It was then, overwhelmed by people, by the whispers, the sad invitations and the false promises, that he knew he could no longer stay.  
  
He was about to leave when a warm hand was placed over his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks.

“Crowley...” Aziraphale whispered beside him, voice soft and sweet.

With bright eyes and a beautiful smile wrapped around his lips.

“Angel,” He said while trying to recover. “How’s everything going?”

“Wonderful! Oscar is just as I imagined him. He’s actually invited me to stay the night to talk about a book idea he has in mind. He says it’s his masterpiece.”

_Alright, that was unexpected,_ Crowley thought and he frowned, thinking very hard on whether or not he should warn the angel about that. After all, it was obvious what any human meant when offering an invitation as such. Especially with someone like Aziraphale. It was impossible not to want at least a taste of everything the angel had to offer. It was literally inconceivable to not fall in love with him.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Crowley looked at him from behind his sunglasses, eyes squinting and noticeably worried. He didn’t want to hurt the blond, but he definitely didn’t want to leave things to chance. If the author ended up being an idiot Crowley would personally drag him down into the circles of Hell.

“I’m fine.”

“I can sense flashes of sadness…”

“Must be coming from our happy friends, don’t you think? They’re the life of the party.” He rolled out ironically.

Aziraphale didn’t want to keep pushing him, but he knew the demon was lying. Nearly six thousand years of knowing the wily serpent helped him notice the shifts in demeanour with little more than a glance. He was worried about something, and that couldn’t mean anything good for them. The demon had the astonishing ability to detect problems. Quite the opposite from the angel, who seemed to find himself in constant trouble. With his head about to fall to the guillotine in several cases.

"You will stay?" asked the redhead.

"I don’t see why not".

"Do you want me to take you home? Maybe it's for the best. "

"What happens?" The principality asked, a bit annoyed. “Why are you acting like this all of a sudden? It was you who made me talk to him"

"But that was before ..."

Knock on the door kept him from finishing that thought, before three more followed with increasing force. The music stopped and everyone turned to the entrance, surprised and afraid.

“Police! Open up or we’ll force our way in!”

The party’s organizer went towards the door as everyone else ran to try and hide or run away through the halls. Crowley listened from where he was as an officer called the host a pervert while handcuffing him, before throwing him to the floor. 

He took the angel’s arm and dragged him into one of the halls, pushing his way through the commotion of men trying to all get out at the same time. Aziraphale was so caught up in his surroundings that he let Crowley lead him without complaints.

The demon took them to a dark corner, but he was taken aback when Aziraphale wiggled himself out of his grasp. He turned and scanned the room to find him again, frowning as he tried to think of a way to get them out of the mess they were in.

When he found the angel he was kneeling in front of a table.

“Come with us.”

“We can’t run away.”

“Angel! For the love of G-”

Well aware that he couldn’t finish that sentence but with nothing else in mind he got down besides Aziraphale and pulled the table cloth up. There, hiding under the table, was a man with his arms around his knees, scared half to death.

“Come with us, Oscar,” Aziraphale told him. “Everything is going to be alright, I promise.”

The angel extended a hand towards the writer and helped him up. Then an angry yell from an officer enticed them to run. 

More screaming, broken windows, and insults later, gunshots began to take part in the evening.

Aziraphale looked around desperately, coming to the realization that they had nowhere to run. 

“Hold on to me,” Said Crowley.

The angel turned to him and shook his head. He couldn’t let him do it. They had already been reprimanded for frivolous miracles, and there was no way to convince Heaven or Hell of why they had to use one now.

They would be punished, and he knew that they didn’t just send rude notes in Hell.

“No! It’s too dangerous!”

The demon scoffed, angry.

“Damn it, angel!” He took Aziraphale’s arm in a strong grip. “Grab him!”

Oscar was running a few meters behind them. An officer chasing after them, sure that the writer would be his catch of the night.

“Stop!” The man shouted, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

“Angel do it!” 

Unable to do anything else, Aziraphale reached out to grab Oscar in the exact moment the officer shot at them.

But their bodies were no longer there when more officers arrived. They had disappeared, though the official report would state that they had run away from being charged with sodomy.

Across the city, the doors to a bookshop opened and two entities walked in with an unconscious man between them.

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Crowley lied as they moved with the writer’s body resting on their shoulders.

Once they laid him down on the couch Aziraphale turned around to check on the demon.

“That was very dangerous!” He exclaimed as he patted down the redhead’s body looking for anything out of place. “A teleportation?! What were you thinking?!”

“We’re safe, aren’t we?”

“You could have disintegrated! You know human matter was not made to travel through time and space!”

“You should take care of our guest instead of yelling at me,” He suggested. “He’s hurt.”

The angel turned his head and realized that it was true; a red stain beginning to form beneath the writer’s clothes. He quickly ran to the kitchen to get a damp cloth or something he could use to wrap around the wound.

When he came back he was surprised to find Crowley kneeling down next to the poet, his hands trying to find where the blood was coming from.

“They shot him,” He said. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

“Let me.”

Aziraphale got on the floor next to Crowley, but the demon stopped his hands before they could reach their target.

“Don’t. How are you going to explain this?”

“How will you do it?” He spat out. “Running away and saving a life in the same night? It looks as if you’re asking for trouble.”

Crowley couldn’t argue with that, so he let the angel take over. The blond gently opened the man’s clothes and looked for the wound in his abdomen. He placed his palms against the ruptured skin, willing it to close. The bullet shot out through the air and hit a shelf as the flesh healed and the blood disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

Oscar Wilde, completely healed, instantly opened his eyes and took a lungful of air in.

“Careful,” Aziraphale said sweetly, “everything is fine. You’re safe.”

“Where - where are we?”

“Soho,” the demon answered as he got up to get some whiskey hidden behind some cookbooks. 

He poured two glasses and miraculously found some ice. He handed one to the poet and kept the other for himself. That earned him a reproachful glance from Aziraphale that he couldn’t work out. Was he angry because of the hidden alcohol or because of the small miracle? Or perhaps for giving it to a convalescent man? Probably all the answers were correct.

“Thank you,” said Oscar as he took the offered drink. “What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Aziraphale asked.

“We were… running away from the police. We reached a hall with a dead end and then I felt a strong heat in my body and an unimaginable pain…”

“You tripped and passed out.” Crowley let out quickly, knowing the angel wouldn’t be able to lie. “We picked you up and brought you here. The bullets almost reached us, but we managed to get away.”

“That’s crazy!” Oscar exhaled as he brought his glass up and finished his drink in one go. ”It doesn’t matter in any case. I know they saw me.”

Aziraphale looked him in the eye, the resignation in the poet’s face hiding his exhaustion, sadness, and pain. It was then that the angel understood his train of thought and couldn’t help but worry excessively.

He knew what it felt like to be in his place. With the world against him, opinionated and judging every little piece of his being. A world full of rules where it would always be impossible to fit in. Where being happy and following the rules could not coexist.

And he knew he had to choose; between his own safety and doing what was right.

“Nobody will recognize you.” He said, voice steady and sure, not hopeful.

A small change in the atmosphere alerted Crowley of the small miracle rippling through reality as the strings of the universe moved to accommodate the angel’s will. He couldn’t help but feel betrayed. Aziraphale was playing with fire and he knew it. They would have to come up with something really good to explain everything that happened that night.

“I hope you’re right,” The poet conceded, getting up from the couch. “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen, but it is far too late. My wife must be very worried.”

Crowley nodded. In spite of everything, he still disliked the deceit and infidelity. He was sure the woman was not in the dark about the subject, though.  
 _Humans just love to keep up with their appearances_ , he thought.

“I cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Aziraphale.

“Will we meet again?”

That took the angel by surprise, but he smiled. He held onto the latch to keep himself standing and took a moment to organize his thoughts.

“Of course.” He said after a few seconds.

The writer lowered his head, thanking them one more time before walking out into the street and blending into the dark of night. The angel sent a silent blessing after him to get home safely.

Crowley looked around the shelves in search of wine, and only stopped when he found a strong one, biting and bitter just the way he liked it. He filled two cups and let himself fall into the couch, eyes on Aziraphale. He had his drink in one hand, physically there but with his mind far away in a strange limbo between the present and his imagination.

“Jussst what are you thinking about?” The serpent asked.

It had been some time since his hissing had last made an appearance, so it took him by surprise. Everything would be fine, though. He had to convince himself of that.

“In everything. I mean, it’s crazy…”

“You think ssso?”

Aziraphale quickly turned to him and frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

The demon cursed himself.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m not stupid, Crowley. I know you’re nervous. You only hiss when you’re nervous.”

It had taken him three seconds to figure that out, but he was still blind to a million other things. Sometimes Crowley could swear the angel only understood the things he wanted to understand.

“How are we going to explain this?” He went straight to the point. “We have to think of something. We’ve used too many miracles.”

“I know.”

“You even erased those officers’ memories.”

“I know.”

“What could have possibly led you to do that?”

Aziraphale took a sip of his wine and set his glass down on the table. If he had the answer, he wouldn’t be asking himself the same question over and over again in his own head.

“I don’t know…” He said with an air of sadness. “I know it sounds stupid, but something inside of me told me to do it. I know he’s a human, but he’s pure. Do you understand?” 

Crowley spent a few long seconds watching him, not daring to shake his head. This seemed very important to the angel and he didn’t want to ruin things by being insensitive - something that came with his demonic essence. 

“I don’t know how to explain it, but I can feel it. His pain, his anger, his resignation… I can see past all that,” Aziraphale said, feeling his heart beat faster. “Somehow I understand how hard it is for him to be happy. We’re all being judged, you know? And if not, we will be. When Armageddon falls upon us and the final judgement begins, hundreds of fingers will point at us, saying how bad or good or indelicate or loyal we were… but why? Why should it matter to us? At the end of it all it’s our life - the humans’ life’s,” he corrected himself. “It’s theirs. At the end of the day, we should judge and hold ourselves accountable,” He thought out loud. “We should be able to look at ourselves in the mirror without feeling ashamed of who we are, and learn to be happy.”

Crowley didn’t immediately have an answer for that, but there were words in his head, spinning around like race cars on a track and then crashing into each other.

Had it been any other person, he would understand the sentiment because humans tended to get wrapped up in them, but not Aziraphale. The angel knew right from wrong. But he had never heard him talking this way, or complaining about Heaven’s actions.

For just a moment, he was worried Aziraphale would Fall, but everything shifted tone when the blond smiled and rubbed his eyes, tired... and blushing slightly.

“I’m sorry, my dear…. I’m talking nonsense. It’s been a long night is all.”

But the demon didn’t believe that one bit.

“Are you happy, angel?”

Aziraphale stared at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you happy?” Crowley repeated. “In this place, now, here -” He stopped himself in fear of the answer that might follow. “Are you happy?”

Aziraphale’s face softened as he stayed quiet for a moment, trying to decipher the meaning behind those words and that small pause.

The demon wanted to know.

If he was happy in that place, in that moment, there... _with him_.

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes I am.”

He wanted to ask the same, but it wasn’t needed.

Crowley smiled at him, removed his glasses, and filled their cups with more wine. He handed one to Aziraphale, tilting his own to call for a toast.

“To the present.” He said with certainty. Not a doubt anywhere to be found.

“To the present.” Aziraphale agreed.

The sound of their cups clinking together announced the beginning of a new chapter of the night, where they would talk about music, history, local gossip, and much more. Until the morning sun would reach them, painting the bookshop in its golden light and signalling a new day.

They had time to form a plan. All eternity if they so wished. 

That very moment, everything was full of peace and happiness. They knew it was something that could be gone in an instant; something they would have to treasure and look to when it was nothing but a memory.

But there would be more times like this in the future, when destiny would push them together again.

There were still many things to toast to.

The whole world, actually.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I'm new here. I'll start posting stories that I have from a long time ago, all about Good Omens. I hope you like it. Thank you for reading.


End file.
